Avery Akishima Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Kobe

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? Back in MI6 days, I’d scope the scene, all cool-like, martini in hand. Shaken, not stirred, obvs. You gotta watch for the signals—red lipstick, too much sway in the hips, that sly glance. Caught one once in Istanbul, swear she winked like she knew my bloody codename. Surprised me, that did—thought I was slicker than that. Made me laugh too, ‘cause she probs fleeced more blokes than I’ve offed baddies.

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So, I wake up, and it’s already hot as hell. I’m sweating like a pig. I grab my gear and head out. I’m walking down Showa Street, and I swear, the smell of takoyaki hits me like a freight train. I can’t resist. I stop, grab a few, and boom! My breakfast is sorted. Best decision ever.

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